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I wanted him, too.
I wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to be in his bed. I did nothing with him that I didn’t want to do and very enthusiastically.
If this whole business with the letters hadn’t happened, I’d be determined to see him once I returned to Manhattan. Of that I had no doubt. Remove the letters from the whole scenario and I’d be texting him and willing to see him anytime and anywhere.
But he did leave the letters. He did leave with only a cryptic note warning me to stay away. He said he was bad news.
What the hell did that mean?
The rest of the evening went more smoothly, with Steve and Leah complying with my request to not talk about Beckett. Instead, Steve told us about his first week at Columbia and how different it was to be in Manhattan rather than Wilmington. How he made out in the subways and learning which train to take and where to transfer.
When I was off shift, the three of us left together and took our own trains home. It was logical for Steve to go with Leah, since they were both in student residence at Columbia and so I went on my own back to my place at The New Yorker.
When I got into bed, I lay awake for a long time, thinking about my life now that I was back in Manhattan. Part of me was happy to be back – the part of me that was able to blot out my thoughts of Beckett. It felt good to be finishing my Masters and I looked forward to my internship with the FBI after Christmas. I was glad Leah and I were still friends and had got together several times since we both returned, despite having busy schedules.
But I felt this gnawing emptiness in my gut. A pervasive sadness about Beckett. Everything seemed easy and exciting with him. I was so comfortable with him, no matter what we were doing.
Sex was really great with Beckett.
My body and heart ached, and both felt so empty and in need of the feel of his skin beneath mine. His eyes staring into mine.
I turned over and wiped the tears out of my eyes, trying to blank my mind of everything so I could sleep and forget about Beckett. I had to contact him and try to find out what he meant or I had stop thinking about him. One or the other.
This indecisiveness was hell.
Later that week, I met with Leah and we sat having a beer at a local pub. I frowned when she told me she and Brandon had seen each other for dinner and then went back to his place.
For hot sex, of course.
“Look,” she said and leaned in closer to me. “I asked Brandon about Beckett, and he was pretty evasive about things. He said that Beckett really liked you. Really liked you. He said that you were the first woman Beckett seemed to actually like since his girlfriend died. There are reasons he can’t see you. That’s all Brandon said, but he said Beckett was a totally honorable guy.”
“His girlfriend died?” I sat in shocked silence. Then I remembered that he told me he had a sad story he didn’t want to talk about. “He said something about having a sad story, and that he was almost married but fate intervened, or something.” I shook my head in disbelief, a small twinge of sadness for him. He knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. Someone you thought you were going to marry and live with forever.
But he obviously didn’t understand how it felt to be lied to.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. If he was so honorable, he wouldn’t have seduced me while pretending he didn’t know me.”
“Brandon said there were reasons,” Leah said with a shrug. “He’s pretty closed up about personal stuff, but Brandon does know that Beckett lost his girlfriend three years ago during an accident while they were snorkeling off the coast of India. She was stung by some kind of poisonous fish and died in front of him.”
I frowned, my throat tightening at the thought that Beckett saw his girlfriend die right before his eyes. “That’s terrible,” I said, my gut twisting. “That still doesn’t explain why he didn’t tell me the truth about the letters.”
Leah shrugged. “All I know is that Brandon thinks Beckett has survivor’s guilt and works super long hours to try to deal with it. His business is all about developing better technology to prevent combat deaths. He lost a lot of friends over there. His own injury was like a catalyst.”
I knew that, as a Marine, Beckett would have seen terrible things in combat. It still didn’t explain why he deceived me about the letters.
“I guess Beckett spends a lot of time at this club his uncle owns. Brandon’s meeting me there on Saturday. If I see Beckett, do you want me to say anything?”
“No,” I said, frowning at the thought. “He had the chance to explain things many times. He didn’t. End of story.”
Leah shrugged. “Brandon seemed so sure that Beckett was still crazy about you.”
We sat in silence, and I tried to figure out why Beckett wouldn’t have just contacted me if he was still ‘crazy’ about me.
“Why don’t you meet us at the club on Saturday night?” Leah said and jabbed me with her elbow. “Brandon said Beckett really fell hard for you. He stayed an extra week because of you and hoped to see you again when you returned to Manhattan.” She wagged her eyebrows meaningfully.
Beckett had stayed an extra week to be with me. A week that was the most wonderful I’d spent in a very long time. A week that made me think we were going to be a couple, once I returned to Manhattan.
“Confront him,” Leah said, “if it’s driving you crazy.”
